Almost Staring
by taae
Summary: Eagerly, now, his fingers trace the outline of Light's face, trailing up along his jawline and over his cheeks towards his forehead, where a few loose strands of fringe peek out from underneath the blanket – and then he plays with those too. LxLight.


Almost Staring

Disclaimer: I don't own death note.

The problem with Light, L muses from his seat in front of the computer monitor, is that he _knows_ just how beautiful he is. Whilst many exceptionally beautiful people have their own small insecurities about the way they look, Light has no doubt that he is, in fact, exquisite. L wishes it were simply the boy's obvious vanity making him perceive himself as ravishing, but he knows that is untrue.

If it were only Light that thought he was gorgeous, then the detective's recent attraction would be unexplained – and as L knows, everything has a reason. And this attraction, he knows it can do no good. If there is anyone who understands the potential consequences of such an allurement, it is L.

But.

Since his confinement, it is as if the boy (and L must remember, he still is just a boy) holds some kind of extra charm that he just didn't possess before. An almost naivety, expressed through each movement he makes, every word he speaks. How, L wonders, how can Light captivate people on almost every level?

Yes, of course L understands that he is not the only one with such a… Romantic? Platonic? (Whatever it is, he cannot tell) attraction to the tawny-haired youth, and that practically everyone Light meets gravitate towards him.

L ponders upon what it must be like, to be loved by so many without even trying. As the world's three greatest detectives, he is awed at by many, feared by some and respected by all. But loved? With as little self-pity as possible, L supposes that few people love him.

So L finds himself with a new hobby – watching people love Light. Observing exactly how they react to his presence, noticing the new glow in their eyes whenever he is around. A glow that, as the lead detective (maybe once he was the leading light, but that role has been stolen) of this case, L is not allowed to show, lest he mar all of the effort the team has made in tracking down Kira.

Suddenly, the object of L's musings sucks in a deep breath and mumbles something inaudible in his sleep, pulling the detective back to the present. Of course, they are in the computer room that the investigation team spends so much time in. Light is asleep for the first time in a long time (the boy just won't stop trying to keep up with L's self-destructive pace of working), and there is, for once, a peaceful atmosphere in the room.

All that is currently visible of the younger male is the top of his head, resting on his folded arms, but if L moves (carefully, as not to rattle the chain) he can see Light's back, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes.

Perhaps he shouldn't let his gaze linger on him for much longer – it feels almost naughty, watching the boy when he doesn't know about it - whilst he remains defenceless to the detective's scrutiny. However, what one shoul d do and what actually occurs are two thoroughly different things, so L continues to peer down at his colleague, his suspect, his _friend_, in awe.

As cliché as it may seem, L cannot deny the fact that Light appears paradisiacal whilst asleep. Yes, he is sublime whilst awake, too – but as he lies, silent and very nearly still, with the light from the monitors tumbling down over him, creating a halo of light on the top of his head, something new is created - a sort of openness that one does not often associate with the auburn-haired boy. Warmth radiates from him as he sleeps peacefully on, a direct contrast from L's ordinary cold and clinical manner.

Whilst his eyes are shut – eyes the colour of whisky and just as intoxicating – Light Yagami is angelic.

However, it would be unfair for L to leave him like this; it is unlikely he will wake up for a long while, and if he were to remain in the same position all night he'd have the most terrible back ache. L stares down longingly for a few more moments (moments that are far too short, will always be far too short) and briefly considers carrying the boy. But alas, Light rarely sleeps deeply and it is improbable that L could get him all the way upstairs without dropping him anyway.

And so, tilting his head to the side and putting on an apathetic face, the great detective pokes Light right in the shoulder. A mumble is heard, grumpy sounding but otherwise incoherent and a wry smile fights its way through L's blank mask (like sunshine fighting its way through storm clouds) before he can stop himself. Gently, he calls out the youth's name and prods him a little harder.

After a few seconds, Light disentangles his arms and clumsily flings one out in the direction L, hitting him softly in the chest. Seemingly worn out from all that effort, he doesn't hesitate to put it back where it previously resided.

L laughs a little then, an almost choked out sounds that sounds quite unnatural coming from him. The noise appears to annoy Light, because he lethargically raises his head and peers at L with accusatory eyes.

Unfazed, the world's three greatest detectives tilts his head to the side and peers right back. Perhaps he is expecting a staring contest (that will no doubt end in a stalemate), but he does not get one because Light merely grunts –half-heartedly- before trying to doze off once again. L sets his determination firmly in place, ready to drag the boy up to their room if necessary.

Light also seems to have set some determination into place, because several prods, a pat on the head and some roughly shaken shoulders later, he still has not moved. As much as L would normally praise him on this amazing show of a stubborn streak, it is slowly becoming vexing. So, with as much politeness as he can muster, L promptly grabs Light by the collar and hoists him up onto his feet, before dragging him over to the elevator by the wrist.

On his first few steps in the land of the awake, Light stumbles slightly, and has to latch on to the detective a little – which is, incidentally, a lot more than his pride would like to. L finds it strangely endearing, and casts a glance behind to make sure his companion now has his footing.

Light looks tired – really tired, actually, all slumped over and quiet – so L says nothing about his clutching onto his person. They continue their journey into the elevator in an awkward silence, which reaches its peak when they have to pause for a few moments as they wait for the elevator. L has noticed, in the brief time he's spent with Light, that the boy has a very slight fear of elevators – whether it is the small, enclosed space, or the idea of plummeting to his death is unknown – but this trip up to their room passes with none of the usual hand wringing and deeper breathing.

Perhaps it is time to instil a strict sleeping schedule. If Light is too tired to even entertain L with his unspoken anxiety, then he cannot possibly be working to the best of his abilities. And who cares if that's a bad reason to give his companion some sleep? Certainly not L, and probably not anyone else if they could see how funny it was for the 'high and mighty Light Yagami' to try and cover up his trivial fear.

Maybe using humour to smother his growing guilt is not a good idea – L is not good at making jokes and in the end, he just turns out to feel more remorse anyway.

However, the sleeping schedule stays.

The lift reaches their floor with a cheerful "Ding!" far too loud for this time of night. L feels Light jump (and then he feels Light try to cover up the fact that he jumped) behind him, and marvels at technologies' desperate flaw of not recognising social cues, such as the hushed atmosphere in an elevator, or the petrified face of a boy who really does not need a gun fired at him by his own father.

Unaware of the detective's thoughts toward it, the lift doors swish open to display their suite (he loves that, an elevator right up into their bedroom – yes, he may be a stoic detective, but there is something just so _cool_ about that!). L leaves the elevator first, Light trailing along close behind him.

They prepare for bed in silence; Light too tired to speak, and L not knowing what to say. However, this time the silence is a companionable one, one that is only broken by the sound of the handcuffs being removed so that they may change shirts. After brushing their teeth (and Light doesn't even look at the detective weirdly for humming 'The Tooth Brushing Song' whilst he goes), they clamber into bed together, Light snuggling down underneath the covers, and L breaking out his laptop from underneath his pillow.

Despite his obvious fatigue, Light stays awake for a little while longer, peering up with inquisitive eyes as L begins to type, fast and precise, even in his current frog-like position with the laptop rested on his knees. Light is pretty sure he'll get bum ache in a while.

After a few minutes, L tears his gaze away from the laptop and looks down at Light, who, he notices, has one of the many blankets (apparently, it gets cold in the bedroom at night, L can't say he's noticed though) pulled up around his head.

"Light-kun looks like an old woman like that," L snorts. "Also, is my typing keeping him awake?"

For a moment, Light looks vaguely offended, then he realises the blanket and L sees the knowledge wash across his face before he smiles and wraps it further around himself.

"No, you're not keeping me awake – it's just soothing to watch you type. That's probably what knocked me out in the office room. Sorry about that, by the way."

L shakes his head, although his eyes are back on the laptop screen again. "Light-kun has nothing to apologise for – although I suppose he should know that I will be putting in place a sleeping schedule in order to keep him working properly."

Upon hearing a small gasp, L turns his attention back to Light yet again. The adolescent is sat up now and has an almost afraid expression on his face – afraid of what, L cannot tell. It's been a good few months of not being able to tell anything, actually, and it's really starting to annoy the detective.

"Has my work been losing quality?" Light's voice is laced with sleepiness and fear, and L wants to pull the covers up over his head and force him to go to sleep, although he knows that idea would be impossible unless the idiot gets some answers.

"Not yet, although I fear that could happen if he doesn't learn to take care of himself properly." L pauses, in the way a great detective does when they are about to deliver a truth. "Light, I am a terrible insomniac – my mind races and races and I simply cannot turn it off. The sugar I consume probably does not help with this." He starts, laying down the basic concept. " What's more, I have been trained by some of the very best to think and deduce as I do, so _please _do not feel frustrated if you cannot catch on to it immediately – you are doing so a lot faster than I originally did, anyway."

It seemingly takes a while for this to all sink in, and when it does, Light looks up from where his eyes were previously trained onto the bed covers, and evident on his face is hope.

"So my work isn't bad?" He half asks.

"Not at all," L clarifies.

To this, Light merely wraps the blankets tighter still around himself and places his head back down onto his pillow, looking much more content (and much more like an old woman).

And then.

Well, L can't help it, really - Light looks so open and warm, his face relaxing as he begins to drop off into the land of nod, and breathing little puffs of air onto his pillow, and-

L reaches out his hand; careful, deliberate. Just before his fingers meet the undoubtedly soft skin he pauses.

Should he really do this? Isn't it his job, as the leader of the taskforce, to not let his emotions get the better of him?

Does he care?

Pushing his thoughts away for a moment, L runs the back of his hand along his companion's cheek, relishing the feel of soft skin, of _Light _underneath his fingers as the boy remains lying calmly against his pillow. For a moment, the room around the detective blurs, with the exception of Light. Perhaps, he thinks warily, unsure of how to go about these thoughts, this is how it feels to have one thing matter to you above all else. Or maybe he is just staring too hard.

Cautiously, he repeats the motion, not quite sure of what he wishes to accomplish, but knowing absolutely that he wants _something._ Light's eyes flutter just a little, but this does not deter the detective, not now.

He needs some kind of recognition for his feelings; a second opinion on all of this.

He needs… he just _needs_.

Eagerly, now, his fingers trace the outline of Light's face, trailing up along his jawline and over his cheeks towards his forehead, where a few loose strands of fringe peek out from underneath the blanket – and then he plays with those too, feeling them running smoothly in-between his fingers.

Suddenly, Light stirs properly and L freezes in his actions for a moment, before regaining his determination (and nobody else in the world has ever taken it away from him, not for a split second) and continuing as Light's eyes open and he peers up at L once again.

L sees a lot in those eyes, brought out by the fierce glow of his laptop. Things like arrogance (but that's a given), annoyance, raw intelligence, passion, and, most importantly, a little bit of trust. It's there, written all over his face as he peers up at L as L brushes his thin fingers across his cheeks – L gazes right on back until it turns into an almost staring contest – but this time they're playing for so much more and-

"Ryuuzaki," Light's voice is hoarse from lack of sleep and he unconsciously touches a hand to his throat. "Ryuuzaki, what are you doing?" He asks after a few seconds, and there is no note of annoyance or discontent in his voice, so L takes this as a good sign and does not stop as he answers:

"Recently, Light-kun, I have found that I have quite a fondness of you. I do not quite understand this myself, to be frank."

"Oh." Light sighs. L keeps up his petting motion, because, really, what more can he do at this point?

"That feels nice." Light tells him, a reluctant note to his voice, almost as if he's afraid to admit it. And then, after a while: "What do you mean, you're _fond _of me?"

Before the raven-haired detective can answer, Light's eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch, breathing in deeply – and L feels it then, a harsh, forceful shock of something a bit _different _than anything he's ever felt for anyone at all. So, whilst Light's eyes remain shut and the boy stays unsuspecting, L leans down over him, and presses his own lips against Light's, slowly coaxing them open and guiding (he doesn't know _how _he's guiding, because he's never done this before) the young man's mouth into a chaste, passionate kiss. And when Light begins to respond, slowly at first, but definitely building up the tempo – it feels exhilarating, feels like dancing in the air, feels like a million fireworks going off inside of him, spreading warmth and comfort and _longing _through him like a bush fire.

After a while, L realises that it has indeed been a while, so he gently breaks away from the kiss, and watches, feeling utterly windswept, as Light opens his eyes and stares up at him with a flushed, lost expression. Then he clarifies for the second time.

"_That_ is what I mean when I say I'm fond of you, Light-kun."

Light is speechless for a few moments, the only sounds in the room are those of the laptop humming steadily on. Then, actions a bit wobbly from tiredness and shock, he sits up in the bed, leans over, and touches his forehead to the detective's, the blanket slipping off of his shoulders. L's hand brushes up across his torso to his head, nimble, cool fingers enclosing around strands of auburn hair. Light copies the motion, eyes drifting up to look into his companion's.

"Oh." He breathes.

They stay like this for some time, supposedly thinking. L threads his fingers through Light's hair several times – if this is all he's going to get, he's going to make sure he has a lot to remember while he can. Eventually, however, Light clasps his hands together at the back of L's neck and tips his head slightly to the left, finally capturing the man's lips in a kiss. It starts off slow, clumsy almost, just the brushing of their lips together, the feel of imaginary static electricity cracking in-between their mouths as their passion grows, then L takes the initiative, and leans forward so he is lying on top of his now flattened friend. He moves gently so as not to dig his knees or elbows into Light's torso (he wants to keep this chaste and pure for as long as he possibly can) until he is straddling over Light, cupping his jaw in both hands.

Somehow, Light's hands have found their way into L's sleeping shirt and are running along his chest; L is pretty sure that Light is counting his ribs in an almost methodical manner, examining, _exploring._ L finds this really quite endearing, smiling into the kiss as the two continue their own personal explorations of one another. Next, Light traces his fingers along L's sides towards his spine, which he then feels too, and L doesn't even bother to supress the reflex shudder this brings, instead using one hand to smooth back some strands of Light's hair that have been sticking into his face.

After a long while, L breaks the kiss in order to plant more kisses along Light's jawline, down his neck and towards his collarbone, smirking inwardly when he hears a pleasured moan come from above him, and then altogether smirking when he feels Light's fingers stiffen and stop against his back. He stops, soon after that, rolling off of the (panting) Light and kicking back the covers so he can wriggle into bed himself. Immediately, he finds himself with a brunette lodged in his arms, and wonders briefly if this is how it's going to be from now on.

It is hardly an undesirable thought.

"You know," Light says, once he has caught his breath, "I'm pretty fond of you, too."

L laughs a little then – for the second time that night and although it still sounds quite unnatural, he thinks he could grow into it. He can feel Light's eyelashes brushing against his nightshirt more and more frequently as the young man succumbs to sleep once more, so in near silence he closes the lid of his laptop and places it to one side. Now, the room is mostly dark, except for the Tokyo city lights tumbling softly in through the curtains.

L plants a kiss to the top of Light's head.

"Goodnight, Light-kun." He whispers, brushing his fingers across the younger man's arm in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

One of Light's hands wriggles its way out of their embrace and up into L's shirt. He pats around for a moment (leaving L very confused) before stopping at the centre of his chest.

He's found the heartbeat. L feels him smile benignly against his sleeping shirt.

"Goodnight, L."

**(A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.) **


End file.
